


unrequited

by hella



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Gen, Love, M/M, Pining, Sad, Unrequited Love, i am a piss baby, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-26
Updated: 2014-02-26
Packaged: 2018-01-13 20:54:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1240465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hella/pseuds/hella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>jean thinks it's a very real possibility he's in love with marco bodt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	unrequited

**Author's Note:**

> ( i am trash )

Jean thinks it's a very real possibility that he's in love with Marco Bodt.

It's that young, disgusting, high school kind of love that consists of sneaking glances in the locker rooms, of avoiding his eyes when he meets his girlfriend in the lunch period between Science and AP English, when he picks her up with strong arms and presses a kiss to her lips and she giggles, smiles, and Jean has to stare down at his hastily packed crackers and sandwich and try not to cry.

When he meets Marco's eyes during Homeroom and Marco smiles, just a small quirk of his mouth, Jean feels an overwhelming spike of sadness in his chest and quickly drops his gaze and turns back to his book.

He doesn't miss the slight look of confusion on Marco's face, though; or the uncomfortable sinking feeling in his stomach as he reaches down to turn the page (and just take his mind off him).

-

Sometimes, when it's three in the morning and the bed is cold and the room is quiet, save for the soft hum of the fan, Jean will roll over and stare at the ceiling.

It's a static feature of his life now, never leaving, never changing because Jean simply watches the white wood and lets his imagination wander, wondering how Marco's strong arms would feel wrapped around him, how it would feel if Marco picked him up in the lunch break and twirled him around, peppering soft kisses on his lips - and maybe his imagination wanders just a little bit too far, because Jean's fingertips are trailing beneath the waistband of his boxers and his breath is speeding up, gasps dripping from his mouth before he can stifle them.

He tries not to feel bad about it when he comes with Marco's name spilling off his lips and he curls into his pillow, too tired to even cry.

Because they don't teach you about this kind of heartbreak in school, they don't tell you about how it feels when the person you love doesn't love you back, and Jean remembers countless nights simply spent mulling over this, watching the ceiling and dreaming into the early hours of the morning.

They don't tell you that it's okay to like another boy, either.

He can't even be bothered to hope that maybe Marco will notice him anymore, but he's so far fucking gone already and every night, after the last train, after the house has fallen asleep and Jean's the only person awake, tucked under the sweaty mess of sheets, he cries himself to sleep.

And so when the offer to Reiner's party surfaces and Marco smiles that award-winning, toothy grin of his and offers to take some people there, Jean isn't going to pass this up.

Not in a million years.

 - 

Christ.

He should have known this was a bad idea. 

When Marco's body is pressed right up against his, warm heat prickling into Jean's skin and pushing him up against the window, Marco leans over and quietly whispers a sorry into Jean's ear, and Jean prays to every god there is that his body doesn't betray him.

-

( he fucked up )  
( he fucked up and he wants to cry into the murky concoction in his cup and he knows he ruined it and he)

He had to go and ruin any chances he ever might've had with the boy he's been in fucking love with since freshman year, and it just hurts.

When he steps back, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet in rapid, tiny movements, he takes in Marco's expression and his red, wet lips and tries desperately not to cry.

"Marco, I- I'm sorry, I'm sorry, can we please blame it on the alcohol, I-"

"Jean."

Marco's voice cuts through the air, thick with tension and Jean's tears and it feels like his throat is seizing up, like he just dry swallowed a pill, and o-

"I-" Marco's voice cracks, and Jean feels even worse than before.

"I'm not gay,"

Marco finishes, staring at Jean with an unreadable look on his face.

"I have a girlfriend. I- I, uh,"

Jean wants to walk away, wants to collapse at home and scream into the pillow and sob until his eyes are burning and his throat is scratched raw but some sick, twisted part of him concretes his legs to the ground, even though he knows that staying to listen will be so much worse than if he turns on his heel right now and heads off.

(maybe he could crash his car into a pole)

(that would be nice)

"I don't like you in that way, Jean."

(and oh,) there it is.

And Jean chokes out one last sorry, and his eyes are welling up with tears as he runs towards his car and unlocks it, stepping inside and jamming the keys into the port, but he's barely made it to the next street over when he collapses against the steering wheel, sobbing helplessly, feeling like his throat's being torn out and it just won't stop won't stop it won't

and he cries.  
and cries.  
and cries.

**Author's Note:**

> ohhh My God


End file.
